


You Look Familiar

by twothumbsandnostakeincanon (somanyofthekids)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Familiars, I don't know what's happening why am I awake, I fucked around with this instead of doing other things that people are actually waiting for, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Pre-Slash, Stiles' familiar is a Chia pet and it's integral to the very small amount of plot, agfafglhafkjlhfga, crack but also not, magical everyone actually
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-16
Updated: 2018-05-29
Packaged: 2019-05-07 17:48:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14676264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somanyofthekids/pseuds/twothumbsandnostakeincanon
Summary: Stiles' familiar is a Chia Pet.Don't be rude about it.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cywscross](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cywscross/gifts).



> This was born because @cywscross reminded me that the idea existed ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

Peter watched Stiles.

It was a thing.

Not a good thing, or a bad thing, or even a particularly strange thing, given who Peter was.

It was just… a thing.

Peter watched Stiles.

No one watched Peter.

It made them too uncomfortable. He’d been resurrected without his familiar and somehow come back _more_ sane rather than _less_ , as was the case with every other documented case of Familiar Death. People could hardly stand to look at him at all, much less watch.

It’s _wrong,_ they whispered. _He’s only half a person. Where is his magic, if not kept with his familiar?_

They were all waiting for him to snap, waiting for him to return to madness, despite proving that he still had his magic every time he shifted. There was no cure for the willfully ignorant, he supposed.

So rather than dedicating time to changing that, he used it to watch Stiles and his familiar, who were currently sitting on the couch in the loft. Stiles patted the small plants sprouting from the turtle shaped Chia Pet he called Aida. He would pat them down gently and watch them spring back, as if he was both petting and playing with it.

Aida sat perfectly still, as always. Never reacting, never interacting. Like she was just a regular Chia Pet.

Peter had wondered, at first, if perhaps Aida were some kind of red herring. Perhaps Stiles’ actual familiar couldn’t travel with him for some reason, so he carried around the Chia Pet to prevent awkward questions. It seemed like a Stiles thing to do.

But Peter had spent too much time with Stiles now, both in his house and everywhere else, to continue thinking that. There were no other familiars in the Stilinski household unless John was home with his ferret, Frances.

The Chia Pet was well and truly Stiles’ familiar.

Derek and Scott continued bickering in the middle of the loft as Peter continued to watch those long pale fingers lovingly brush across the green leaves and terracotta feet.

“Hey Stiles,” Isaac nodded over at Lydia’s goat familiar, “Guinevere's looking pretty hungry, maybe you should give her a snack.” He made a grab for Aida, but Stiles was well used to his jackassery by now, and pulled her away while sending a shock of electricity in Isaac’s direction like a rolled up newspaper.

Isaac yanked his hand away, rubbing the back of it with a sulk on his face. Peter didn’t know why he continued to pull that kind of shit- everyone else thought it was weird, but ignored Stiles’ oddity. Well. Everyone except Peter.

It wasn’t even that Aida wasn’t an animal; that was unusual, but not unheard of. It was just that other plant familiars always exhibited proof of sentience. Vine tendrils that curled around objects, or leaves that shook in morse code- _something._

The turtle shaped Chia Pet just… sat there. Chia-ing away.

“No!” Scott yelled, breaking Peter’s concentration. “We have to _talk_ to them, I know they’ll understand us!”

Derek was pinching the bridge of his nose between his eyes.

“I don’t know how to explain ‘zombies’ to you any better, Scott. They don’t understand _anything._ They’re _dead._ We need to find the one who’s raising them.”

“They’re not _all_ the way dead, or they wouldn’t be moving around,” Scott said stubbornly. “We have to at least try talking to them.” He looked around the room for support, finding none. “Stiles?” he pleaded.

Stiles shrugged. “Sounds like a double headshot situation to me, dude.”

Scott set his jaw firmly, taking one last glance around the room.

“Fine. I’ll go talk to them alone then. When I come back with a treaty worked out, you’ll have to honor it.”

“Aw, Scott-” Stiles started, but was cut off by the slamming of the door. He sighed, tucking Aida in pocket of his bunny hug and standing.

“Come on, guys, come help me keep him from killing himself.”

Derek’s eyebrows said everything about how much he wanted to do that, but grudgingly got up anyway, leading the others out with him.

Peter, however, stayed right where he was on the stairs.

“I really don’t think we ought to interfere with natural selection, do you?” he said delicately.

Stiles raised an eyebrow.

“Rich words from a guy who died. Come on Zombiewolf, they’re your people! If anyone can pull off Scott’s dumbass idea to communicate, it’ll be you!” He grinned cheesily.

Peter remained unmoved.

Stiles sighed.

“Help me keep my bro alive and I’ll help with the translation of that Polish Bestiary you got last month. I _know_ you’re only three pages in. If Scott doesn’t die, I’ll have the whole thing translated in two weeks.”

“Deal.”

Peter reached out to shake on it and then used the leverage to pull himself up. He leaned in to rub his cheek against Stiles’, conscious of the way Stiles allowed it- perhaps even leaned into it a little.

“You should have held out for at least another two favors,” he whispered into Stiles’ ear. “I’ve been cursing at that book all week.”

He tried to tamp down his smile at the shiver and chuckle that Stiles responded with.

Peter tugged his hand to pull them both out of the loft.

“Let’s go help the idiot squad.”

____________________

 

In a turn of events that surprised exactly one person, Scott was already in trouble when they arrived.

Claws out, eyes flashing, he was tearing away at the zombies as they shambled into his space, slow and unstoppable.

Everyone jumped into the fray immediately, but it was like the zombies were appearing from thin air. There were just _so many._ The pack could drop one, and three would take its place.

The zombies had little to no motor coordination, but they pressed with their whole body, leaning in to incapacitate while another tried to bite. Fighting while feeling so suffocated led to a panicked defense rather than a planned attack.

Even Peter and Derek were struggling; their arms couldn’t get enough movement for their claws to be truly effective. Dread clogged Peter’s throat- this couldn’t be it, he’d come back from the dead once, he _wasn’t_ going to go out a second time by _zombie-_

One long arm raised above the mass of bodies, green and tan gripped in the fist held aloft. Everyone in the pack watched as the arm pulled back, flew forward, and Stiles released Aida mid-air.

The moment held, suspended, as everyone looked on in horror, expecting Stiles’ familiar to shatter against the first object she hit. Shards of terracotta, scattered bits of green and seeds- the companion of Stiles’ magic, destroyed.

But then-

Orange and black, growing larger so quickly that no one could track it with their eyes. One moment, there was a flying Chia Pet, the next, a mother fucking _tiger_ was landing on the ground with an earth shaking roar.

Rotting bodies flew left and right, the heads being severed by huge claws and an even huger jaw. The sudden breathing room gave everyone in the pack a perfect view of the tiger absolutely _shredding_ the hordes of zombies that had been their imminent demise just a minute ago.

The whole ordeal took less than five.

When they were surrounded by bodies, Stiles moseying along and whacking the head off of the occasional twitcher, the tiger finally sat down and began cleaning herself. He walked right up to her and ran his fingers through her ruff.

“Thanks Aida,” he said casually. She turned her head to lick his face.

“Oh, _gross,_  you were just using that tongue to clean zombie guts off of yourself!” he yelled, wiping his face with his sleeve.

Aida let out a deep rumbly sound that may have been the tiger equivalent of a laugh, before giving her claws one last lick. Then she turned around and leapt toward Stiles, transforming mid-air once again before landing in Stiles’ arms as a turtle Chia Pet.

Wait. No.

Peter peered a little more closely.

She was a sheep this time.

Stiles brought her up to his face, nuzzling into her and gently patting the tiny green plants as he usually did. Only this time, everyone watched Aida rub her little terracotta body up against his cheek affectionately.

He tucked her away in the pocket of his bunnyhug again and looked up at the pack, who were still staring.

Stiles smiled angelically.

“I thought she was a fucking _Chia Pet,”_ Isaac burst out indignantly.

Stiles looked at him, eyebrow raised.

“She is. You just saw her turn back into one.”

_“But she-”_

“Anyway, I need a shower,” Stiles cut in, blatantly ignoring him as he walked away. “Peter, your apartment is closest. You can let me in with a key or I can break in, your choice.”

Peter hurried after him, knowing he wasn’t joking.

“You are absolutely _not_ using my good towels-”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to bed, I give this at least a 20% chance of being deleted when I wake up, or a 15% chance of being edited and expanded someday.
> 
> EDIT: Turns out Sleepy Me is real dramatic not a super great judge of enjoyability?? WHO WOULD HAVE GUESSED. Anyway I’ll be leaving this up and also adding a second, possibly third part.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to add more to this story, so I did, and then it became kind of a fun exercise where I tried to fit in world building and background to a story that was intended to be a one shot. It was interesting to do- still feels kind of clumsy, but I enjoyed it. Here it is for you guys if you want it! There should be another chapter in a couple days and then the last one a couple days after that.
> 
> Aida's speech is patterned with italics and angle brackets, because I can never truly leave my Animorphs childhood behind.

The first time Stiles broke into Peter’s apartment, it was mostly just to show that he could.

Usually he played to the common misconception that he was too underpowered to pull off something like that- after all, how much magic could possibly fit in a Chia Pet, right? _Wink wink._

But that would have been a wasted venture with Peter. He’d always seen through Stiles, right from the beginning. Honestly, it was probably the most flattering thing Stiles had ever experienced- to have someone look at him and truly _see_ despite what he knew he looked like to the world.

It was flattering, and also a pain in the ass, because it meant he couldn’t rely on Peter to underestimate him. So, he’d gone for a direct threat instead. Couldn’t have a freshly resurrected werewolf think no one was babysitting, could he?

At first he broke in and just left his scent on things. He didn’t know a ton about werewolves- had believed they were myth along with everyone else right up until Scott became one- but he knew that much about scent. Peter was more than clever enough to catch the implication.

When Peter changed his locks and wards, Stiles broke in again and moved all the furniture by a few inches.

Peter tried _again,_ this time bringing in a security specialist to tighten things up. The specialist would have been a good move- if he hadn’t been a former employee of the Beacon Hills Sheriff’s Department. Stiles not only knew all of his tricks, but had been the source of inspiration for at least half of them.

That was when Stiles started leaving notes.

The first was a torn piece of notebook paper on the kitchen table: _You should ask Former Deputy Sanchez for a friends and family discount, just tell him you know me._

After that, Peter seemed to grudgingly accept the Home Invader that was Stiles Stilinski.

Stiles felt his original mission had been accomplished, but he would still drop by every now and then to keep it up.

A post-it note left on the TV, critiquing Peter’s Netflix queue.

Dry erase marker written on the bathroom mirror, telling Peter to buy toothpaste.

A grocery list, stuck to the fridge with a magnet that definitely had not been there before, filled out with ingredients for a recipe.

It wasn’t long after that that Stiles first broke in while Peter was _in_ the apartment.

Peter almost attacked him, only pulling back just in time when he recognized Stiles’ scent. Stiles ignored him and went straight to the bookshelf in the corner, saying “I need that book you have on alchemy. I saw it once, where- here!”

  
He pulled the book off the shelf and popped himself on the couch. Peter stared with heavy judgement until Stiles looked back up. He sighed.

“Look dude, I really need this to finish a paper. Just give me like ten minutes with the book and I promise not to break in for two weeks, okay?” he asked, a hint of pleading in his eyes.

Peter looked aggrieved. “Fine. But if you hurt my book, I will personally make sure your skin gets used to rebind the cover,” he threatened.

“Yeah, that’s a totally normal way to encourage delicate handling of an object,” Stiles said dryly, poking his nose back into the book.

Peter rolled his eyes and returned to his own book that he’d been reading before Stiles’ stormed in.

“You know,” Peter said casually a few minutes later as he turned a page. “You don’t have to stop coming over entirely. It would be _lovely_ if you stopped breaking in,” he said with a saccharine tone before continuing normally, “but if you just want to come use my books, or try the meals from the grocery list… I would be amenable to that.” He looked up at Stiles who was staring, surprised. “As long as I’m home to let you in,” he finished, eyebrow raised.

Stiles tried to cover his surprise with a snort.

“Yeah, maybe,” he said evasively, unsure of why Peter would offer such a thing.

So Stiles stopped breaking in. Mostly. Sometimes he accidentally left things at Peter’s and had to go back and get them before Peter could get home. After about six months of that, Peter exasperatedly offered to make him a key, but Stiles just shrugged.

“You don’t really need to bother, your locks are a non-issue for me. I barely need to think about getting through them.” There was no hint of bragging in his tone, simply a statement of fact.

Peter glanced at Aida, and wondered.

Two years later, Peter spent nearly as much time with Stiles as without, and he was no closer to solving the mystery of Aida. Stiles, however, had finally solved the mystery of why Peter was willing to have Stiles around.

Peter _liked_ Stiles. Genuinely. As a person. At first, Stiles thought as a friend and packmate, but the past few months had him convinced it was… something else.

However, Peter had yet to say anything about it. He _had_ to know how obvious he was being, and Stiles was sure his own interest was clear. Peter wasn’t oblivious, and he hadn’t shut him down. The only conclusion Stiles could draw was that Peter was aware, but not ready for some reason.

Determined to let him set the pace, “patience” had become Stiles’ daily mantra. They more or less constantly existed in each other’s space anyway. If Peter wasn’t comfortable with anything more… physical, Stiles could wait.

When they got to Peter’s apartment after the zombies, Stiles headed straight for the bathroom, Peter barging in behind him to pull the older towels out from under the sink.

“Use _those,”_ he said, pointing emphatically. He gathered up his nice towels to remove them from the situation entirely, pausing when Stiles put Aida down on the sink before removing his sweatshirt.

Stiles glanced over, noticing what was causing the hold up. “She likes the humidity when she’s like this,” he said, voice muffled as he pulled his t-shirt over his head.

Jumping on the opening, Peter immediately asked “So she stays like this even when it’s just the two of you? It’s not just a form she takes in public?”

Stiles shrugged, hand lingering at the button of his pants. “Not always, when we’re alone, but she prefers it most of the time. Like, she’s always a Chia Pet when we’re in public, but alone it’s probably half Chia time and half other stuff.”

“‘Other stuff?’ So she has more options than Chia Pet or tiger?” He paused, glancing down at Stiles’ hand. “I just bought a new bottle of body wash, I’ll go get it.” As soon as he left the bathroom, Stiles shucked his pants and boxers and turned on the water, getting in. Just as the water reached the perfect temperature, a hand holding a bottle of body wash poked around the side of the shower curtain.

Stiles pulled the curtain back a bit to thank Peter, and smirked at him when he saw blue eyes traveling down his wet, bare chest. Grinning, he yanked the curtain shut again and continued as if they hadn’t interrupted themselves.

“She can be pretty much whatever she wants, although she definitely prefers Chia Pets and felines. Tigers, cougars, housecats, any of ‘em.”

_ <Tell him it’s because I’m solar powered> _ Aida said to Stiles.

“She’s saying she likes sitting in the sun, and it feels best in those forms,” Stiles said out loud.

_ <You’re a fuckin’ liar, Stilinski.> _

Peter glanced at Aida, who was still sitting on the counter. He felt a momentary pang for the loss of his own mental connection with his familiar.

He must have been silent for too long, because eventually Stiles said “... Peter? Did you leave?”

“Yes, I left,” he snarked.

In the shower, Stiles rolled his eyes. “I’m staying here tonight, I’m too tired to go home.” He yawned in unintended punctuation of his statement.

“Do you want me to text John for you?”

“Nah, I’ll do it.” The water shut off. Peter hesitated, and then grabbed a towel and tossed it over the curtain. He wouldn’t put it past Stiles to hop out of the shower naked, and Peter simply didn’t need that kind of temptation right now.

Stiles emerged with the towel wrapped around his waist, surrounded in steam.

“You’re up, my zombie covered zombie,” he said.

Peter huffed with poorly hidden pleasure at being called “my” anything from Stiles.

Stiles scooped up Aida, and Peter saw her move again, nuzzling into Stiles’ palm.

Amazing.

Peter got in the shower, and Stiles wandered into Peter’s bedroom, heading for the dresser. He deftly stole a pair of boxers and a t-shirt, and then a shiver prompted him to pluck up a pair of flannel pajama pants too.

After he was dressed, he went into the study to take a look at the Bestiary he’d promised to translate while he absently texted his dad about what had happened and where he was. Eventually he heard the water shut off again, and by the time he made it to the bathroom to gather up both sets of guts-covered clothes, Peter had already moved to his bedroom.

“You’re almost out of detergent,” Stiles said at normal volume as he set a heavy wash cycle (the clothes were _absolutely_ disgusting).

“Add it to the list then!” he heard Peter holler from the bedroom.

_“You_ add it to the list,” Stiles said. “I only wash my clothes here like once a month.”

“You can’t see it, but I want you to know that I’m rolling my eyes from the depths of my soul right now,” Stiles heard Peter’s voice coming down the hall toward the laundry closet.

“Oh sure, _that’s_ worth an eye roll,” Stiles complained, “but when I tell you to help me weed the garden that grows food you eat _at least_ twice a week, it’s not _your_ garden, it’s _my_ garden-” he stopped abruptly when he sensed a familiar subvocal rumble, and grinned, turning around to see Peter looking at him intensely.

_That_ was why Stiles had taken Peter’s clothes.

Well, that and the aforementioned disgusting guts problem.

Peter refused to admit it, refused to admit anything regarding his _obvious_ crush on Stiles, but he loved seeing him wrapped up in Peter’s clothes. Stiles took a step closer, bringing a hand up low- and Peter stepped back.

“I thought you were tired?”

Stiles held in his sigh.

_Patience,_ he reminded himself. _I’m being patient._

“Yeah,” he admitted. “When Aida’s transformations have a big change in mass like that, it takes a lot out of both of us-“ A bitten off yawn interrupted him. “Come snuggle me, your apartment is freezing.”

Stiles slept in Peter’s bed far too often or not nearly often enough, depending on who you asked. It was often enough for them to have sides of the bed, but not so often that Stiles kept a toothbrush at Peter’s.

Peter slid between the sheets while Stiles sat Aida on the dresser- far enough away from the window to not catch a draft, but close enough that she would feel the first rays of sunshine in the morning. Stiles moved to the bed, rolling under the covers and burrowing down. He glanced over at Peter, only to see him frowning at Aida.

He looked back over at Stiles. “How did the Chia idea even come up in the first place? I would have thought some other houseplant would be more likely.”

Stiles looked at him carefully for a moment before falling into an open, but tired expression.

“Aida showed up when I was eight.”

Peter actually startled. Eight was a good two years younger than people manifested their familiars- the earliest kids started at ten, with most kids getting them around eleven or twelve.

Stiles continued. “Mom was sleeping- it was just after she was diagnosed. Dad was at work. I was watching TV and suddenly there she was, a part of myself I hadn’t known was missing.” He paused. “She didn’t really… look like anything? She wasn’t an animal, or a plant or a human, she was just… a part of my magic. Anyway, she showed up, so we watched TV together.”

And what an amazing feeling that had been, just to have someone watch TV _with_ him. To have that companionship, when he’d been increasingly alone as his parents worried about the future.

“A commercial for Chia Pets came on. I thought they were so cool, but mom obviously didn’t want to add another responsibility to her plate… so, I asked.”

“You asked?” Peter questioned, confused.

“I asked Aida,” Stiles clarified, “if she could become a Chia Pet. And she did. It was a few days before she changed out of it and into a ginger house cat; scared the hell out of my dad for a minute when he saw.”

Stiles went quiet again for a moment, before continuing.

“He was the one who suggested that we keep up the Chia Pet front. People can be dicks about things that are different _._ He didn’t say it quite like that, but you get the picture.”

“Yes,” Peter agreed absently, thinking about his own familiar, or lack thereof.

Stiles seemed to track his thinking. “So… what was your familiar, when they were around?”

A ghost of a smile crossed Peter’s lips- the kind of smile he would never let pass around anyone but Stiles.

“He was a wolf. Jakob. Most born wolves have wolf familiars; you’ve seen Derek and Sue, Cora and Nathaniel. Jakob was- huge, and black, and absolutely beautiful.” He stumbled over the past tense, as he always did, even when just thinking about Jakob in his own mind. For the first time, he actually said his thoughts out loud.

“It feels wrong to talk about him as if he’s dead, or missing. He’s not. He doesn’t have a physical form anymore, and I do miss that. I miss talking with him, brushing his fur. But he’s not _gone._ I can still feel him. Not metaphorically. I feel like the magic that lived in him, the magic we shared, resurrected with me, inside me. It’s like I’ve returned to the state we’re all in before our familiars manifest.”

Stiles hmm’d thoughtfully.

“I wonder if he’ll come back twelve years after your resurrection,” he mused.

Peter had considered it, but-

“I’d rather not have my hopes dashed.”

Stiles regarded Peter’s carefully blank face.

“I _believe_ I requested _snuggles,”_ he said abruptly and imperiously.

Peter, grateful for the subject change even as obvious as it was, opened his arms. Stiles squirmed his way over and plastered himself to Peter’s side, head on his chest, one leg swung up over both of Peter’s.

He was out like a light not even three minutes later, snoring softly.

Peter leaned his head down, and hesitated a moment before kissing Stiles on the head and settling down to sleep himself.

On the dresser, Aida smiled to herself.


	3. Chapter 3

Stiles and Peter woke up to an insistent banging on the front door. Stiles groaned from where his face was stuck to Peter’s arm.

“Why’s m’dad here?” he mumbled, not entirely awake. “Did you do crimes?”

“Which kind of crimes?” Peter mumbled back, no more awake than Stiles. “How d’you know s’your dad?”

Stiles unstuck himself and sat up, rubbing his eyes. “That’s his ‘I’m not going away’ knock.”

Stiles stumbled out of bed and eventually landed at the front door, undoing the locks with a wave and opening the door. His eyes widened comically when he saw who was on the other side.

Scott, Lydia, Allison, Isaac, Derek, and all their familiars barged in in front of John and Frances, who glared at Stiles on their way through the door.

“In _what universe_ is it a _good idea_ for you to leave me a text that says ‘almost died by zombies aida went tiger and chomped them btw pack knows about aida now’ and then _not answer your phone for nine hours?”_ his dad said thunderously, Frances draped around his shoulders and mimicking his glower perfectly.

“Yeah!” Scott cut in. “And why are you sleeping at Peter’s?!”

“They’ve been sleeping together for months,” Derek said flatly. “Use your nose for once Scott.”

Scott looked scandalized. “You two are sleeping together?” he asked, shocked.

“Not like-” started Stiles.

“Jesus Scott, I just said _use your nose!”_ Derek blew out exasperatedly. “If I meant that they were fucking, I would have said fucking! They’ve been _sleeping together._ They smell more like each other than most couples.” Derek wrinkled his nose.

“Can we not discuss my son’s sexua-” started John.

“Where are Erica and Boyd?” Stiles interrupted, suddenly worried.

Allison piped up. “They said, quote ‘whatever is happening with that whole area of bullshit is not something we need to know about’ unquote.”

“At least two of your pack members finally understand privacy and need-to-know information,” Peter said as he finally joined them in the living room, stretching his arms and yawning.

Stiles groaned as he brought both hands up to rub his face.

“She was a _Chia Pet!”_ burst out Isaac, who could apparently no longer stay quiet.

Stiles buried his face deeper in his hands.

Peter took one look at Stiles and snapped his fingers at everyone else in the room.

“Sit,” he said sternly. “I’m going to make coffee. If anyone asks any more questions before we’ve both had at least half a cup, they’re getting kicked out, understand?”

Grudgingly, they all settled down in the living room. Everyone was quiet for two beats, and then Stiles’ head snapped up to glare into the kitchen.

 _“What do you mean_ **_‘which kind of crimes’_ ** _?!”_

 

 ____________________

 

It took two hours and a semi-satisfactory explanation of which surveillance activities technically fall into a legal grey area, but eventually everyone left. Derek and Sue were actually the first, only having wanted to lay eyes on Stiles and Peter to make sure they were alright before leaving to look into who was responsible for the zombies.

Scott, his akita familiar Joey, and Isaac with his parakeet perched on his shoulder were the next to leave. Once Isaac realized that he wouldn’t be getting an explanation other than “keep the information to yourself or else”, staying held no interest for him. Scott grudgingly left with him after ensuring that Stiles knew how hurt he felt that Stiles’ hadn’t trusted him- both with the truth about Aida and the fact that he was “basically _married”_ to Peter.

Allison stood off to the side, watching her bushbaby Gwendolyne climb all over Guinevere while sneaking glances at the rest of the room. Lydia fixed Stiles with a stern look after the boys had gone, and said “I understand why you kept it quiet. But if you ever keep a secret like that from me again, I _will_ kick you in the dick.” And then she handed over a book before taking Allison’s hand and beckoning their familiars out.

Stiles glanced at Peter and knew he was dying to look in the book just as much as he was, but they both focused on John one more time.

He had a tired, resigned look on his face as he gazed at his son.

“I knew it couldn’t stay secret forever,” he said quietly. “I just… worry. There are-” he rubbed a hand over his mouth. “There are so many hate groups out there, just for people with _uncommon_ familiars, or for people with certain birthmarks, or for no damn reason at all-” He cut himself off again and looked from Stiles to Peter. He sighed. “It’ll be fine,” he said, obviously talking to both himself and them. “As long as you two take care of each other, it’ll be fine… and you could have told me you were dating, you know.” He raised an eyebrow. “It’s not like it wasn’t obvious.”

“We’re not-”

“-the type to yell about it, you know?” Stiles cut in, taking Peter’s hand. “It’s been a pretty unconventional journey. We’ll talk about it when we’re ready.”

Peter gaped at Stiles in silence.

John huffed. “Yeah, alright. Will you be home later today?”

Stiles had to stifle a yawn. “Maybe? I don’t have any other clothes here, but to be honest I kind of just want to sleep for another nine hours.”

“Alright, just let me know for dinner okay?” John said as he stood.

“Sure thing daddio.” Stiles let go of Peter’s hand to stand as well and hug his dad before walking him to the door. A moment later it was just the two of them left in the apartment, Stiles moseying back to the armchair where Peter was still staring at his hand.

“Are you done sleeping? ‘Cause I’m really not. Shit, I bet the wash needs to be run again-”

“Why did you tell your dad we’re dating?” Peter interrupted, a bit of a lost look on his face.

“We kind of are, dude.”

“... We are?”

Stiles considered him. Maybe this wasn’t really about patience at all.

Maybe Peter was just way more clueless than he thought.

“We’re doing our laundry together right now, at this very moment. We spend almost all of our free time together, I sleep here at least once a week and you sleep at my house just as often. When’s the last time you kissed someone else, huh? Hell, when’s the last time you even went on a date?” Stiles asked.

Peter’s jaw snapped shut.

Stiles started ticking off his fingers. “You get all growly and happy when I wear your clothes, if I smell like someone else you get super grumpy, and if I had a dollar for every time I woke up with your boner poking me I would probably be able to buy a third Shelby Cobra-”

“Alright- ALRIGHT,” Peter stopped him, a glint of panic is his eye. “I’m a desperate old man, I get it!!”

Stiles shooshed him. “Hush, I didn’t finish my reasons.” He started ticking off fingers again. “You are literally the only person I enjoy spending more than two hours with. I’m constantly amazed by how well you follow my train of thought. Honestly, you’re better at it than I am some days. If I spend any more time thinking about how awesome it’s gonna be when we finally fuck then I’m going to get chafing blisters on my dick. I love you-”

“Excuse me?” Peter said, astounded.

“I love you. Deal with it.” Stiles folded his arms with his chin jutted out stubbornly.

Peter stared at him in amazement. Eventually, Stiles stepped in close and carefully brought his hands to Peter’s face.

“I love you,” he said quietly, and leaned to to chastely kiss Peter’s lips.

“Yeah,” Peter said dazedly. “You do, don’t you?”

Stiles chuckled. “Mm-hm. I think you might love me too.”

“Yeah. I think I might.”

Peter leaned in for another kiss.

 _ <You’re both idiots and you deserve each other,> _ Aida said as she wandered in on little orange cat feet.

Stiles turned his head to the side to sigh exasperatedly at her. She hopped up next to the book Lydia had given him and tried to paw it open.

“No,” Stiles snapped. “You don’t get to read that before I do, and I want a nap.” He picked her up around the middle and she yowled indignantly, making her displeasure known to everyone rather than just Stiles. He ignored her and grabbed Peter’s hand to ferry everyone back into bed.

“Sleep,” he ordered sternly, and buried himself in the pillows to do exactly that.

Peter and Aida looked at each other.

They may not have had a mental connection, but they understood each other perfectly anyway.

_That boy._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~Short chapter short chapter~
> 
> I’ll be real, Peter is pretty damn OOC for me here. I definitely feel like there is zero chance of him being THAT oblivious, but it was cute for the story so ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Pride Month! I hope you’re all wearing a rainbow and the anger of generations past! Don’t forget the annual tradition of summoning Ronald Regan’s ghost to show him your Regan/Gorbachev slash fic!

Stiles ended up only sleeping for about another hour before everyone got up to have a late breakfast. Early lunch. Whatever.

Peter cooked bacon while Stiles sat on the counter reading the book, and Aida sat next to the stove looking at the frying pan with intent, flicking her tail back and forth.

_ <He’s going to give me some bacon right? ...If he doesn’t I’m going to steal it anyway.> _

“Yes, you can have some bacon,” Stiles mumbled distractedly as he turned a page.

 _ <You bet your ass I can have some bacon.> _ Her tone had taken on a distinct disgruntled edge in Stiles’ mind. _ <You made me stay in Chia form whenever he cooked for you for two whole years. It’s my turn for bacon.> _

Stiles rolled his eyes. “As if I can 'make' you do anything. Besides, he didn’t know you were a shapeshifter. We weren’t going to share that just so you could have an omelette.”

_ <No, you should have shared it because you’re ass over teakettle in love with him.> _

Stiles’ head finally came up from the book, brow furrowed.

Peter was looking from Aida to Stiles curiously.

“Are you upset that I didn’t tell you about Aida sooner?” he asked bluntly. “I know Scott is. But are you?”

Peter shrugged. “I understand why you kept it to yourself. Aida is unusual. Which means your magic is unusual, and possibly powerful. Of course I would have liked to know sooner, because I like to know things, but keeping it quiet was the smart move. Especially while you were young.” He looked up at Stiles seriously. “It’s not just bigots who’ll be interested in you. Anyone who wants power will be as well.”

Stiles quirked an eyebrow.

“Anyone? Like, say, a crazy revenge-bent werewolf recently woken up from a six year coma?”

Peter smiled with a slant. “Exactly.” Then he actually took a minute to consider- he didn’t have the clearest memories of the space between waking up and burning a second time. His mind hadn’t been able to fully grasp anything that wasn’t involved in vengeance for his pack. But…

“I wonder if I was able to somehow latently sense the difference in you.” He looked at Stiles, sitting on the counter in his ill fitting pajamas, looking completely harmless. Delicious, but harmless.

Stiles tapped a finger on the book. “Possibly. This book has some of the most recent theory on familiars. It suggests that some familiars pull toward each other, independent of the consciousness of their partners, when two magics are attracted.”

 _ <Jakob never talked to me,> _ Aida said, subdued. _ <But sometimes he acted like he wanted to.> _

Stiles repeated what Aida had said to Peter.

As Peter plated the bacon, he said, haltingly, “Jakob couldn’t talk when we woke up from the coma. Not even to me. I don’t know if it was trauma from the fire, a side effect of the coma-” He took a deep breath and shook his head, looking at Aida. “I think he wanted to but, he couldn’t.”

They all ate in silence for a few minutes.

Eventually Peter asked “So what does that book have to say about shapeshifting familiars?”

“Nothing,” Stiles said after swallowing his mouthful of toast. “But it does mention that the younger a person’s familiar manifests, the more… unlikely their familiar’s form is. Apparently last year a ten year old girl manifested a familiar who was a dodo bird. And an eleven year old in Ecuador has a huge bioluminescent mushroom.”

“Hm,” Peter mused. “I wonder if we have anything in the vault that might be valuable. It’s not as if you can really trust the scientific and medical communities.”

Stiles looked affronted. “Doctor-,” he checked the cover, “Dr. Singh, _PhD,_ probably knows more about magic science than you’ve ever considered!”

“The magi-scientific community can’t even acknowledge the existence of werewolves, and we’re running around in packs right under their noses,” Peter said, amused. “Somewhere along the line, they just decided that the only species magic that exists, exists within familiars. Can we really trust people with such a limited view in a case as unusual as yours?”

Stiles threw his hands up in the air. “You guys are deliberately hiding your existence! You’re going to blame them for not knowing you exist when you’ve done everything you can to ensure they don’t know you exist?” he asked incredulously.

“Yes,” Peter said simply, sipping his coffee. “Which brings me to my next question: what are you going to do now that word of _you_ existing is inevitably going to get out? Whoever raised those zombies was probably watching us, and thus Aida. Not to mention the pack’s ability to keep a secret is iffy at best.”

Stiles sighed. “I don’t want to do anything. I just want to be with you and maybe pass Art History 101.” He brightened for a moment. “If Aida could transform into a Mona Lisa Chia Pet, do you think that would give me an A?”

In response, Aida hopped up on the table and swiftly stole the last piece of bacon from Stiles’ plate.

“Hey!”

Peter smiled briefly, but tried to direct the conversation back. “I’m serious, Stiles. Obviously you can continue to stay here in Beacon Hills, going to school, but eventually word is going to get out. There’s a good chance that someone will come and either try to hurt you for being an,” he put up finger quotes, “‘aberration,’ or they’ll try to get you under their thumb so that they can use Aida and your magic.”

Stiles put his chin in his hand. “We’ll just have to teach them what happens when you try to fuck with the Hale Pack, won’t we? Besides,” he scooted his chair back and stood, holding a hand out to Peter. “My mom always said ‘don’t borrow trouble.’ I know advanced defensive magic, Aida can rip a person to shreds in seconds, and you’re a werewolf with a heart full of violence,” he smiled crookedly. “Within the pack we have emergency codes and escape plans- I'd say we’re pretty well prepared. As long as we have that, why waste energy on an attack that hasn’t actually happened yet?”

Peter took his hand and stood with him. “Easy for you to say,” he said, nuzzling into the side of Stiles’ face. “It’s not your lover who’s in danger.”

“Ooooh, _lover,”_ Stiles teased with a grin. “Does that mean-” he was cut off by the buzzing of Peter’s phone from the living room.

Peter went to pick it up while Stiles trailed behind him with the book.

“What.” Peter said flatly into the phone as he answered. _Must be Derek,_ Stiles thought.

“If he’s not there, he’s probably already on the run, Derek,” Peter said after a pause, and Stiles gave himself an internal high five. “Look around, see if you can find a  checkbook with a bank account number. I can set up-”

The front door to the apartment suddenly kicked in, and Stiles yelled. Peter dropped the phone, immediately crouching in front of Stiles, teeth and claws extended.

A wild looking disheveled man stormed into the apartment. “There you are,” he said, looking at the two of them, eyes gleaming. “The key to my success! You’ll be coming with me.”

“Like hell you’re taking Stiles,” Peter growled.

The disheveled man chuckled once. “Who says I’m here for him?” Before Peter and Stiles could process that, six _very_ recently dead zombies filed in through the broken door quickly.

These weren’t the shuffling Romero zombies of last night. This was some _28 Days Later_ bullshit, and they were headed directly for _Peter._

“Aida!” Stiles screamed.

Once again, Peter watched as Aida transformed into a huge bengal tiger and started swiping her massive paws through the air. The necromancer appeared prepared for this, however, and while Aida managed to take off a few limbs, the zombies had her restrained before too long. Stiles pushed more magic toward her, trying to give her the strength to fight back.

Peter lunged at the necromancer, only to find a faceful of wolfsbane blown in his direction. Stiles watched as he slumped to the floor, shocked.

The necromancer knelt down, looking at Peter almost lovingly. “He’s beautiful, isn’t he?” he crooned. “All the magic from his familiar, taken back inside without losing himself to madness. So much _power_ . He’s the key to unlocking _everything.”_

“Oh my god,” Stiles blurted. _“That’s_ it? That’s why you’ve been unboxing corpses all over the place? Because you’re mad that some of your magic is in your familiar?”

The necromancer still had a crazed, hungry look in his eye when he turned it on Stiles. “Once your magic is shared between yourself and another being, it’s no longer completely under your control,” he sneered. “You can’t possibly imagine the power I’ll have once I can take the magic back from that leeching fool and into myself.”

 _“Leeching fool,”_ Stiles whispered to himself, horrified. “Your familiar is still a part of you! It’s just part of your magic acting as an external guide-”

“Yes, yes, we’ve all read the educational pamphlets,” he said impatiently, looking over at Aida. “I’d take you for experimentation as well, but unfortunately I’m not prepared to receive a tiger _or_ a Chia Pet.”

 _ <What about a gorilla, motherfucker_, _> _ Aida said angrily as Stiles pushed another handful of magic at her. Swiftly, she shrank back down to a house cat and ran out from beneath the zombies, leaping at the necromancer and changing into a huge silverback gorilla midair.

She attached herself to his back and snapped his neck. All the zombies dropped as if their strings had been cut. There was a moment of stunning silence, and then-

_ <Whoops. Maybe I should have left him alive for questioning?> _

“He didn’t have anything to say that wasn’t lunatic bullshit,” Stiles said, still in mild shock. Suddenly his father, Allison, Derek, and Lydia rushed into the room.

“What’s going on?” Allison asked, sharp eyes looking around for danger. “We got your emergency text, but- wow, this is a lot of dead bodies for one room.”

“One might say too many dead bodies,” Lydia inserted dryly, although she too looked a little shaken.

“Aida,” John said, voice wavering slightly. “If you could climb off the body, please.”

Aida got down and clambered over to Peter before picking him up and swinging him over her shoulder like an empty sack.

 _ <I’ll just go put him in bed until he can sleep it off,> _ she said. Stiles considered protesting, but really, it’s not like Peter would want to wake up in the middle of a living room corpse party.

John was rubbing a hand down his face. “This is exactly what I was worried about,” he muttered to himself.

“He wasn’t here for me,” Stiles hurried to explain. “He wanted Peter. He was- crazy. He was crazy, and had some kind of problem with his own familiar-”

 _“Jesus!”_ Scott yelled as he barrelled into the living room with Erica and Boyd on his heels, recoiling when he saw the bodies. “Didn’t we get enough of this last night?”

“I thought you wanted to make friends with them,” Derek said sarcastically.

“That was before-” Scott started hotly, before John cut him off. 

“I will not have arguing at my crime scene,” he ordered sternly.

Stiles raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Is this a crime scene though? Necromancy falls directly into the same category as werewolves as far as the scientific community goes.”

“Do we have any eyewitnesses that he was a _successful_ necromancer?” John asked pointedly. “Because it looks to me like he was doing a lot of drugs and brought some dead bodies in here _thinking_ that he could raise them.”

Stiles nodded, eyes widening in understanding. “Oh, that’s right. I remember now. And then he tripped over one of the bodies and unfortunately broke his neck.” Stiles paused thoughtfully. “It’s funny how we have official acknowledgement of banshees,” he nodded at Lydia, “but none of necromancy. Honestly, what _is_ going on with the magi-scientific community?”

The sheriff’s department arrived en masse soon after that, taking pictures and hauling away bodies. Isaac showed up halfway through, sipping an iced coffee.

“His familiar is a fucking tiger,” he said at Derek’s disapproving look. “Why would I be worried about a 911 text from him?”

“Actually, she’s a gorilla now,” Erica said.

“She’s a _what??”_

 

____________________

 

Things honestly didn’t change a whole lot after that.

As it turns out, a pale kid with a shapeshifting familiar that spends most of her time as a Chia Pet, and who is dating a resurrected werewolf with the power of his familiar locked inside of himself? Not the most believable story.

So even when word got out, it was mostly greeted with a condescending nod and and a pat on the shoulder.

And the magi-scientific community was sure they weren’t real, so that was that.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaaand that's where I lost interest. Hope this was fun y'all.


End file.
